"I want to look. Just tell me if you get cold."
"I'm not cold."
She was making small, yearning sounds even before he
lowered his head and closed his lips around her nipple. He
sucked on it with masterful skill. His hand moved down to
appreciate the curve of her waist, then smoothed over the
shape of her hip and thigh. He touched her navel playfully,
and lightly scrubbed the area beneath it with his knuckles.
He touched the delta of springy hair, and his eyes turned
dark.
"I want you to come this time," he murmured.
"I want to."
He slid his hand between her thighs. She raised her hips
slightly to accommodate him. She was already wet. He
slipped his fingers inside her.
"Reede," she gasped with pleasure.
"Shh. Just enjoy."
His thumb idly fanned back and forth across that vulnerable
gem of flesh while he planted kiss after fervent kiss on her
fertile mouth.
"I think it's about to happen," she panted between kisses.
"Not yet. Talk to me. I never get to talk in bed."
"Talk?" She couldn't even think. "About what?"
"Anything. I just want to hear your voice."
"I ... I don't . . ."
"Talk, Alex."
"I like watching you cook," she blurted.
"What?" He chuckled against her lips.
"It was very manly, the way you banged and rattled the
pans. You're messy. You didn't crack the eggs, you smashed
them. Your ineptitude was endearing."
"You're crazy."
"You're making me crazy."
"Am I?"
He inched his head down and stroked her belly with his
tongue. His thumb continued to finesse her slowly, provocatively,
maddeningly, while his fingers slid in and out. Sensations
began to bubble warmly within her lower body. The
pressure centered on the idle movement of his thumb, so that
when he replaced it with the tip of his tongue, she cried out.
She clutched handfuls of his hair and tilted her hips upward
toward the heat of his avid mouth, toward the swirling magic
of his tongue.
Not until the aftershocks had subsided did she open her
eyes. His face was bent low over hers. Damp strands of hair
clung to her cheeks and neck. He lifted them away and laid
them on the pillow.
"What does a woman say at a time like this, Reede?"
"Nothing," he replied gruffly. "Your face said it all. I've
never watched a woman's face before."
Alex was deeply touched by his admission, but tried to
make light of it. "Good. Then you won't know if I did it
right or not."
He glanced down at her flushed breasts, at the moisture
that had caused her pubic hair to glisten. "You did it right."
Lovingly, she combed her fingers through his hair. "It
could have happened before it did, you know--like, that
evening at the airfield. And the time in Austin when you took
me home. I begged you to stay with me that night. Why
didn't you?"
"Because you wanted me there for the wrong reasons. I
wanted a woman, not a little lost girl looking for her daddy."
He studied her doubtful expression. "You don't seem convinced."
Unable to meet his incisive eyes, she looked at a point
beyond his shoulder. "Are you positive that's the reason? Or
were you looking for somebody else?"
"You don't mean somebody, you mean Celina." Alex
turned her head aside. Reede gripped her jaw and forced her
to look at him. "Listen to me, Alex. You made me mad as
hell by saying what you did the other night, that crap about
taking from you what I'd always wanted from Celina. I want
you to understand something. We're the only two people here
now. There's nobody between us. No ghosts, either. You got
that?"
"I think--"
"No." He shook his head so emphatically that strands of
dark blond hair fell over his green eyes. "Don't just think
--know. You're the only woman in my head right now.
You're the only woman mat's been in my head since I met
you. You're the only woman I'm dying to fuck every minute
I'm awake and that I dream about fucking when I'm asleep.
"I'm too old for you. It's stupid and probably wrong for
me to want you. It's complicated as hell. But, right or wrong,
no matter whose daughter you are, I want you." He imbedded
himself firmly inside her. "Understand?" He pushed higher,
harder, hotter, and groaned, "Understand?"
He made himself understood.
Junior woke up before sunrise, a rarity for him. He'd had
a bad night. Following Reede's suggestion, he'd spent several
hours with Stacey. Her physician had given her a sedative,
but it hadn't worked well enough. Each time Junior thought
she was asleep and left his chair at her bedside, she would
wake up, clutch his hand, and beg him not to leave her. He
hadn't gotten home until well after midnight. Then he'd slept
fitfully, worrying about Alex.
The instant his eyes opened, he reached for the telephone
on his nightstand and dialed the Westerner Motel. He instructed
the clerk, who was tired and cranky during those
waning minutes of his long shift, to connect him with her
room. The phone rang ten times.
Breaking the connection, he called the sheriffs office. He
was told that Reede hadn't come in yet. He asked to be
patched into his mobile unit, but the switchboard operator
told him it wasn't in use. He called Reede's house and got
a busy signal.
Frustrated, he got out of bed and began to pull on clothes.
He couldn't stand not knowing where Alex was. He would
find out for himself, starting with Reede.
He crept past his parents' bedroom, although he heard
stirrings behind the door. He was sure Angus would want to
talk to him about the deal with Judge Wallace concerning his
marriage to Stacey. Junior didn't feel up to discussing that
yet.
He left the house and climbed into his Jag. It was a clear
but cold morning. The drive to Reede's house took him no
more than a few minutes. He was glad to see that the Blazer
was still parked out front and that smoke was curling out of
the chimney. Reede was an early riser. Hopefully, he had a
pot of coffee already perking.
Junior jogged across the porch and knocked on the front
door. He stood there, hopping from one foot to another and
blowing on his hands in an effort to get warm. After a long
wait, Reede pulled open the door. He was wearing only a
pair of jeans and a rumpled, sleepy, disagreeable expression.
"What the hell time is it?"
"Don't tell me I got you out of bed," Junior said incredulously,
opening the screen door and stepping into the living
room. "It's late for you, isn't it?"
"What are you doing here? What's going on?"
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. Alex hasn't
answered her phone all night. Do you have any idea where
she is?"
From the corner of his eye, he noticed the pallet in front
of the hearth, then a movement. Turning slightly, he saw her
standing in the hallway leading to Reede's bedroom. Her hair
was tousled, her lips full and red, her legs bare. She was
wearing the top to the pajama set he'd given Reede when
he'd had his appendectomy. She looked wanton and well-screwed.
Junior fell back a step as the breath left his body. Slumping
against the wall, he looked toward the ceiling and uttered a
short laugh.
Reede laid a hand on his arm. "Junior, I--"
Junior angrily shook off his friend's hand. "It wasn't
enough you had her mother, was it? You had to have her,
too."
"It's not like that," Reede said in a steely voice.
"No? Then, you tell me, what's it like? You gave me the
green light the other night. You said you didn't want her."
"I said nothing of the kind."
"Well, you damn sure didn't say hands off. You moved
faster than a sidewinder when you found out I was interested,
didn't you? What was your rush? Were you afraid that if she
slept with me first, she'd never want to give up quality for
low life?"
"Junior, stop it!" Alex cried.
Junior didn't even hear her. He was focused on Reede.
"Why is it, Reede, that whatever I want, you take? Football
trophies, my own father's respect. You didn't even want
Celina anymore, but you made damn sure I didn't get her,
didn't you?"
"Shut up," Reede snarled, taking a threatening step forward.
Junior aimed his finger at the center of Reede's chest. "Stay
away from me, you hear? Just stay the hell away from me."
He slammed out the front door. The racket echoed through
the small house. After the Jag's roar had faded, Reede headed
toward the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"
Alex was stunned by what Junior had said, and even more
shocked by Reede's cavalier reaction. She ran into the
kitchen. Coffee grounds showered from the metal scoop when
she grabbed his arm and spun him around.
"Before I fall completely in love with you, Reede, there's
something I've got to ask one final time." She took a sharp
breath. "Did you kill my mother?"
Several heartbeats later he replied, "Yes."
Forty-three
Fergus Plummet stood at the side of the bed, looking down
at his sleeping wife, his body quivering with indignation.
"Wanda, wake up." His imperious tone of voice could have
awakened the dead.
Wanda opened her eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented.
"Fergus, what time--" Everything sprang into clarity when
she saw what he was holding in his hand--five incriminating
one-hundred-dollar bills.
"Get up," he ordered before marching from the room.
Trembling in fear, Wanda got out of bed. She dressed as
quickly as she could and ruthlessly raked her hair back, not
wanting him to find more fault with her.
He was waiting for her in the kitchen, sitting straight and
tall at the table. Like a penitent, she timorously approached
him.
"Fergus, I ... I was saving it as a surprise."
"Silence," he bellowed. "Until I tell you to speak, you
will remain silent and soul-searching." His accusing eyes
pierced straight through her. She bowed her head in shame.
"Where did you get it?"
"It came in the mail yesterday."
"In the mail?"
Her head wobbled up and down in a frantic nod of affirmation.
"Yes. In that envelope." It was lying on the table
beside his cup of coffee.
"Why did you hide it from your husband, to whom you
are supposed to be submissive, according to holy scripture?"
"I," she began, then stopped to wet her lips, "I was saving
it to give you as a surprise."
His eyes smoldered with suspicion. "Who sent it?"
Wanda raised her head and looked at him stupidly.' 'I don't
know."
He closed his eyes and swayed as though entranced.' 'Satan, I
command you to release her from your evil power. You have
control of her lying tongue. Give it back, in the name--"
"No!" Wanda shouted. "I'm not lying. I thought it probably
came from one of those folks you've been talking to on
the phone about what you did out at the Minton ranch."
He was out of his chair like a shot. Rounding the table,
he bore down on her. "How dare you mention that? Didn't
I tell you never, never to utter a word about that?"
"I forgot," she said, cowering. "I thought maybe the
money came from somebody who appreciated what you did.''
"I know who it came from," he hissed.
"Who?"
"Come with me." He grabbed her hand and dragged her
toward the door that connected the kitchen to the garage.
"Where are we going, Fergus?"
"Wait and see. I want the sinners to meet face-to-face."
"The kids are--"
"God will watch over them until we get back."
With Wanda sitting shivering in the front seat beside him,
Plummet drove through the sleeping streets of town. At the
highway, he headed west. He seemed unaware of the cold,
warmed by his coat of righteousness. When he took the turnoff,
Wanda stared at him in total disbelief, but he shot her a
look of such condemnation that she wisely refrained from
uttering a peep.
He pulled up in front of the large house and ordered his
wife to get out of the car. His footsteps landed hard on the
hollow steps and his knock rang out loudly in the stillness of
early morning. No one answered his first knock, so he
pounded harder on the door. When still no one came, he
emphatically banged on the window nearest him.
Nora Gail herself pulled open the door and aimed the barrel
of a small handgun directly at his forehead. "Mister, you'd
better have damned good reason for beating down my door
and getting me out of bed at this ungodly hour."
Fergus raised his hands above his bowed head and called
upon God and a host of angels to cleanse the sinner of her
wrongdoing.
Nora Gail pushed him aside and moved toward her sister.
They faced each other. Nora Gail, her platinum hair radiant,
looked marvelous for someone who had just gotten out of
bed. The constant use of expensive night creams guaranteed
her a glowing complexion. She was resplendent in a rose
satin robe trimmed with seed pearls. By contrast, Wanda
looked like an overweight brown wren.
"It's cold out here," Nora Gail remarked, as though they'd
seen each other only yesterday. "Let's go inside." She led
her gawking sister across the threshold of the whorehouse.
Nudging Fergus in his skinny ribs as she went past, she said,
"Preacher, if you don't shut up that noisy praying, I'm going
to shoot your balls off, you hear?"
"Ah-men!" he cried, suddenly ending his prayer.
"Thank you," Nora Gail said with amusement. "I'm sure
I can use the prayers. Come on in. I've been wanting to talk
to you."
Several minutes later, they were collected around the table
in her kitchen, which looked very ordinary and not the least bit sinful. Coffee had been brewed and poured into fine china
cups. Fergus commanded Wanda to avoid it, as though it was
a poisonous concoction.
"You can't defeat us," Fergus said heatedly. "God is on
our side, and He's sorely provoked at you, a whore who leads
weaker brothers astray."
"Save it," Nora Gail said with a casual wave of her hand.
"I fear God, all right, but what's between Him and me is
personal, and no business of yours. The only thing that scares
me about you, preacher, is your stupidity."